


Dark seed

by Elenyafinwe



Series: Into the Void [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Break Up, First Age, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Rare Pairings, War of Wrath, angbang, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenyafinwe/pseuds/Elenyafinwe
Summary: Once Mairon and Eonwe had been close. But then Mairon had betrayed him for his Master Melkor. Countless years later, after the War of Wrath, they're facing each other again as enemies. Mairon gets the choice to go with him to Valinor to accept the judgment of the Valar or fullfill his Master's last order to flee and therefore betraying Eonwe once again.
Relationships: Eönwë/Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Into the Void [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880668
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Dark seed

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dunkle Saat](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/752739) by Elenyafinwe. 



The world was devoured by fire. A tremendous tremor went through Thangorodrim as Ancalagon fell from the sky. His furious yet desperate roar echoed all the way to the throne room, and Mairon would not even have had to send out his spirit to know how the crown of creation writhed in agony. The rock was shaken to its core, a pillar toppled with a crash. In the wide hall where he was alone with his master, Mairon suddenly felt even more abandoned. Not even the comforting closeness to his master could completely fill the emptiness. Earendil's terrible act marked the end.

"No, not the end," countered his lord and master Melkor, at whose feet he sat. Melkor put a finger to his chin and surprisingly gently forced him to look up at him.

Mairon shuddered at his master's touch.

Melkor rose from his throne and pulled Mairon with him, embracing his face with both hands. With desperate desire, Mairon looked up at him.

"This is not the end," Melkor repeated as the gaze of his coal-black eyes held his servant spellbound. "They will come, yes, and they will drag me to Aman before my brother. But I forbid you to fall into their hands."

He ran his thumb over Mairon's cheek. Mairon sighed and leaned into the touch with his eyes closed. He wanted to think of nothing but that touch.

At that moment the gates of Angband were brought down and the light of the enemy flooded in.

"So perfect. So powerful," Melkor whispered, still gazing at Mairon. Then he bent down to kiss his most faithful servant one last time.

Mairon's whole body shuddered like aspen leaves in the wind. He and his master had been very close for many years, but he still longed for Melkor as on the first day. Greedily he returned the kiss, while at the same time he clung to Melkor like a drowning man to a piece of wood.

They could have lingered like this for an eternity, but Melkor released the kiss far too quickly. He ran his fingers through Mairon's hair, red-orange like the flames of the fire.

"Keep this _fana_ ," Melkor commanded. "Eonwe will like this. A second time I will not be able to worm my way into their trust; this time they will be prepared. But you, Mairon, will be able to deceive them. Beg the forgiveness of the Valar and affirm that I seduced you and lured you away from Aule with false promises. Then they will be more willing to forgive you. Then you can finish what I have started. I have given you everything you need to know along the way."

"Master ..." That was all Mairon could get out. Everything in him revolted against it. He did not want to leave his master, to abandon him when their enemies were already at their gates. But he said nothing of it; Melkor would not tolerate back talk, not even from Mairon.

"This is my will and you are my instrument," Melkor insisted. "I place my work in your hands, for you alone are worthy to continue it. The kingdom of Arda is now yours."

Melkor's will was law. Even if Mairon had wanted it, not even he could have rebelled against it, he who was a Maia with the powers of a Vala.

One last time Melkor kissed him hard. Then he turned away to meet Eonwe with his head proudly raised as the king he was.

The great double doors to the throne room were flung open. Light streamed in, clear, bright, terrible light, carried by Earendil, who walked side by side with Eonwe.

"Ah, is the half-blood coming to bring me back his stolen goods?" sneered Melkor as he stepped towards them. Vanyar poured in through the gates, their silver armour black with the blood of the orcs they had slain.

None of their enemies responded to his words, and to Mairon's amazement, his master did not even try to lull his enemies with his words. Instead, he smiled an inscrutable smile, even when Eonwe had him seized and his feet hacked off, then bound him with the chain Angainor. Melkor let it happen and it was his will alone that kept Mairon from rushing to his side. With horror, Mairon saw his master being humiliated.

"Oh, Eonwe, you naive child. You know nothing about this world." Even now, with his head bowed and his hair veiling his face, Melkor dominated the room.

"Silence, crow!", Earendil snapped at him. He tore the iron crown from his head, then broke out the remaining _silmarilli_ as well and took them.

The light of all three _silmarilli_ together hurt his eyes, but Mairon endured it. Bravely, he kept his eyes on his master, knowing that these would be their last moments together. He did not want to miss a moment of it. Although a storm raged within him, urging him to snatch his master from the clutches of their enemies, Melkor's will bound him, wishing Mairon to stand back. His time would come, but not yet.

Eonwe paid no further attention to Melkor, but now turned directly to Mairon.

"Mairon, brother," he spoke. "I stand before you as equal. I beseech thee, in the name of Manwe: return in peace by my side to Aman, and receive in the Máhanaxar thy judgment. Comply, and Manwe will show mercy."

Melkor was still smiling as he looked over his shoulder at Mairon. And that was when Mairon's will became iron.

Hiding his emotions, he fell to his knees before Eonwe and pressed his forehead to the cold rock. "I implore the mercy of the Valar!"

Eonwe laid a hand on his head. "I see what stirs your heart. You have been seduced and lied to. Surely Manwe will forgive you for this if you will only be submissive."

At a sign from Eonwe, Melkor was dragged out and locked away. Mairon, however, he allowed to go free if he would only linger by his side. Looking after his master, Mairon steeled his heart and decided to comply.

Eonwe led him outside. The light had dispelled the darkness of Melkor and torn the veils of shadow it had cast over its realm. Last battles were being fought in the distance, but Melkor's forces had long since been dispersed and the enemy was pushing into the darkest regions of Angband to drive the last orc from his hiding place. But Mairon saw that Eonwe's people would never succeed in destroying even the last trace of Melkor, too many of his servants had managed to escape.

Good.

Mairon pretended indifference as he saw the destruction Eonwe had brought upon Angband.

"Come, brother, and breathe the fresh air again," Eonwe spoke. "Soon Manwe's winds will have driven away the foul exhalations, you will see. Do you remember the springtime in Arda when the light of the Two Lamps illuminated our works and the works of Lady Yavanna sprouted for the first time?"

Sure enough, Mairon remembered. He had served Aule then, before Melkor had opened his eyes.

"Glorious times these were," he said.

A tremor went through the land.

"But I fear that this land will not get another chance to green up," Eonwe continued. "The forces we brought into the field were too violent and the land is in danger of breaking apart. We will return home soon enough. But fear not, Mairon! Manwe is a gracious ruler, and I am sure that Lord Aule will also welcome you with open arms."

Mairon was not so sure. Aule had always been a stern lord, very possessive and territorial. Mairon had been his master student, the most skilled of Aule's servants. Curumo alone had been able to hold a candle to him. Aule had considered Mairon his personal possession and had spoken bitter words when Melkor had begun to take an interest in Mairon. Certainly he had taken it very personally when Mairon had left him to serve a greater lord. And Aule was not one to forgive too easily.

Eonwe led him to his tent and gave him robes he thought appropriate.

"Perhaps one day you will be called Mairon the Admirable again. I would wish it for you. It is appalling how Morgoth could have seduced something as pure as you."

Mairon lowered his eyes submissively. Once he had been admired not only for his craftsmanship, but also for the well-shaped appearance he had chosen to wear as Aule's servant, and wore again now. Eonwe was indeed naïve as a child if he was so easily fooled by it.

"He has deceived us all," Mairon said quietly, with regret in his voice. "But I am glad you were able to free me. I see now how I was deceived."

Eonwe smiled graciously. "King Manwe will be pleased to hear such words. Only continue to prove your goodwill, and I am sure you will be shown mercy. You have nothing to fear. Look here."

Gently, he placed a finger under Mairon's chin, making him lift his gaze. Mairon saw that Eonwe was holding an all too familiar blindfold. He looked at him questioningly. "You kept that? Despite everything?"

"Despite everything and all these years. The Elves call you Sauron and Gorthaur and other horrid things, but I simply cannot believe that you have truly become so abhorrent. I remember too well who you had once been and what had bound us together." Eonwe placed the silken cloth in Mairon's hands and stepped close to him. "Aulendil," he whispered, his sinful lips against Mairon's ear.

Against his will, Mairon shuddered as he thought back to a time long ago. A time when he had already been working in secret for Master Melkor and yet had begun an affair with Eonwe. He had actually cared about Manwe's herald, he remembered, he had not been just some intercourse. And that had just made everything all the more complicated.

Why couldn't Eonwe just hate him? Why did he still have to be the thoroughly perfect Eonwe, a miniature version of Manwe? Why was he so naïve and still clinging to what once was? Even now, when he knew how deep Mairon's betrayal of him really went? Did he really not understand?

Eonwe tilted his head to kiss him, but Mairon turned away and pressed the blindfold against Eonwe's chest. No. No, he just couldn't. He had done unbelievably cruel things without hesitation, but there was a limit to everything. His was reached here.

"Take the damn thing!" he growled. "Take it and listen at least once to the stories they tell about me! Nothing is the way it used to be, it never was. Understand that for once!"

Eonwe looked at him like a kicked dog. Only hesitantly did he accept the blindfold. Then he shook his head and reached out a hand to stroke Mairon's cheek. "I was yours and you were mine. Aulendil."

Mairon grabbed him roughly by the wrist. "I am _Sauron_!" Violently, he forced his thoughts upon Eonwe, showing him who he really was in a way he could not resist. He showed him the darkest dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth and the most sinister caverns of Angband. He showed him his bloody work, how he led countless slaves to the slaughter, first breaking their spirit and then their body, and desecrating their lifeless shells even in death, in order to prise the last bit of knowledge out of them. Eonwe became very quiet all at once and his face went white. He stepped away from Mairon and let his arms hang. "So it's true then," he said weakly.

Mairon looked at him hard and put all the cruelty he was capable of into that look. Yes, Master Melkor had wanted him to be submissive, but at that moment what he wanted most was for Eonwe to finally understand. Even if it meant hurting him in such a cruel way. Even if it meant plunging the knife into his own heart.

Eonwe jutted his chin. "But I also believe in the good in all of us," he said stubbornly. "Nothing was evil from the beginning. Not Morgoth, and certainly not you. Morgoth could not have succeeded in really squeezing every ounce of goodness out of you."

Mairon said nothing in response. He simply didn't know what else to say in reply. No matter what he did, Eonwe simply could not be convinced that he was better off without Mairon. Did Mairon have to wade through a sea of blood before Eonwe understood?

Perhaps Eonwe had learned something after all, for in the days and weeks to come he kept his eyes on Mairon at all times and watched him closely, even if he no longer made advances to him. Mairon was by no means free, but unlike his master, his bonds were not visible.

He ached to be close to his master, but he hid his deepest desires, and Eonwe was only too happy to be convinced that Mairon was truly repentant. Melkor was well guarded in the innermost circle of the camp, and Eonwe allowed no one to approach him. He rightly feared that Melkor's tongue had lost none of its seductive power, and that Melkor, though in chains, could still do great harm. What he did not know was that Melkor's thoughts were always on Mairon, despite the chains, and he saw what was going on, even if he was unable to do anything himself.

Eonwe's attention did not waver, but Mairon had learned patience. He continued to be remorseful. Eonwe did not make the mistake of letting him out of his sight, but Mairon saw the herald's heart stirred with compassion. Strangely, Mairon felt disconcertingly defiled for taking advantage of Eonwe's naivety in this way. Had he not played with the feelings of others and turned them against them countless times before? But it had always been different with Eonwe. He hated that.

It had been Eonwe who had humiliated his master, he told himself. He had to remind himself of this over and over again so as not to be lulled by Eonwe's gentleness again. Hatred was the only appropriate emotion he should feel for Eonwe these days. And yet he could not hate him.

No one suspected that Mairon might be playing a false game. Earendil alone, however, deeply distrusted him. He even dared to express his displeasure openly in front of Eonwe that he had not locked Mairon to Melkor as well. Only when Eonwe had made it very clear that this was the will of Manwe himself did he give peace. Mairon could tell by looking at him that it still did not suit him.

Earendil, at the behest of the Valar, rarely left his ship, which was moored suspended in mid-air to a tower in the centre of the camp. Usually, therefore, Eonwe went to him when they had something to discuss, and Mairon, of course, came with him whether he liked it or not.

Every time he met the half-elf, Mairon felt a chill run down his spine. It was beyond him how such a wretched creature could have destroyed something as wonderful as Ancalagon. Did his mixed blood make him so special that it enabled him to do such deeds?

Earendil looked at him with hatred as he once again entered Vingilot in the wake of Eonwe. Mairon kept his hands clasped behind his back, not wanting to accidentally touch more of this ship than was absolutely necessary. It was an ordinary ship made of wood and with ordinary sails. How on earth had Earendil been able to defeat Ancalagon? After all, he didn't even see the faintest hint of a scorch mark!

"I do not want him on my ship. His presence sullies Vingilot," Earendil opened.

"We spoke of this already," Eonwe retorted adamantly. "And furthermore, I do not wish Mairon to be spoken of in such a manner in the future."

"Sauron," Earendil objected, "Herald, it seems to me that you sympathise with the enemy."

Eonwe's posture stiffened. Mairon knew how to read the smallest signs in his body language, and this meant that Eonwe was unexpectedly faced with a situation he did not know how to deal with. No protocol of Manwe's told him what to do. Eonwe had always hated not being given a clear line.

"He will have his just punishment for the wrongdoings he has committed," he repeated what he told everyone. "But it is not for us to judge him yet."

Earendil looked piercingly at Mairon. The light of his _silmaril_ burned. "You keep him close at all times, Herald. Like an adorning garnish. And pretty to look at he may be, but nothing but lies and treachery come from those pretty lips."

Mairon caught a fleeting thought from Eonwe, almost too fleeting to even notice. For a tiny moment, the herald thought of what else Mairon was capable of with his lips.

The earth shook, but this time it was not one of the tremors that gradually tore Beleriand apart. Master Melkor had also seen through Mairon what Eonwe had been thinking of, and was somewhat amused by it.

The tremors made them sway. Mairon grabbed hold of the railing, but immediately jerked his hand back, as if he had burned himself. He was overcome with the need to scrub his hands. Hastily he rubbed his palm against his robe, even though it hardly made the unpleasant feeling any better.

Earendil turned away and looked across the camp to the south.

"Where are my sons?" he demanded to know. "The last time I saw them was over a year ago and that too only from a distance. You cannot keep them from me any longer, they are still in the clutches of those murderers."

Sons? Mairon's ears perked up.

"I do not withhold them from you," Eonwe said patiently. "They will come and make their choice. Everything else is up to them then."

"They are my _sons_!" enthused Earendil.

Mairon was dying to know more, but to ask would look suspicious. So he remained silent.

When Eonwe also remained silent, Earendil signified to them that he had nothing more to add. "That will be all, Herald."

Eonwe bowed his head slightly and turned to go. Mairon followed him.

"Carrion crow of Morgoth," Earendil hissed to him as he passed.

Mairon smiled. He had long been above such trifles.

Eonwe led him back to his tent, which had also become Mairon's lodging over the past few weeks since Eonwe had made it his business to be his personal guardian. Mairon stood in the middle of the tent and waited while he watched Eonwe. The latter stepped to a chest of drawers and poured them both wine.

Then he motioned to Mairon to join him at a small table. Mairon complied and accepted the cup.

Eonwe sighed.

"You look exhausted," Mairon observed before he could even hold back the words.

Eonwe's eyebrows furrowed as he traced the patterns in the goblet with his thumb and stared deeply into the wine. "The way Earendil keeps talking about you makes me wonder. And it's not just him, after all. _All of them._ Could it be ...?" All at once he raised his head and pierced Mairon with his gaze. "Speak, Mairon, and speak nothing but the truth. Was what had stood between us ever real?"

To avoid Eonwe's gaze, Mairon looked at the silk blindfold the herald had tied around his wrist.

"Yes, it was," he finally said quietly. It was at least part of the truth.

"And do you really regret what you have done?"

"Yes."

Or at least he regretted that he had not been able to take Eonwe with him then. When he had been unable to keep up his masquerade, he had gone to him and asked the herald to leave Manwe for him and go with him to Master Melkor. But Eonwe had refused and thus hurt Mairon worse than even Lúthien had been able to.

Wasn't it Eonwe's fault that they had become so estranged and that betrayal had come between them? It had been Eonwe, after all, who had refused and thus allowed them to stand opposite each other at this point, as enemies, servants of two masters who had been at war with each other since the beginning of the world.

Yes. He could hate Eonwe for that.

" _Oh, little flame_ ," Master Melkor whispered in his mind. " _You are truly cruel._ "

Eonwe acquiesced to Mairon's words. He grasped his hand and brought it to his lips to press tender kisses on his fingers. The hint of a touch of his tongue followed, a promising reminder of what once was and could never be again.

"Maybe one day it can be like it was then," Eonwe whispered with closed eyes, nestling into the touch of Mairon's hand on his cheek. "I don't want to give up hope in that. My feelings for you are the only secret I have ever kept from King Manwe."

And that would be his undoing, Mairon decided. At that moment he held Eonwe's heart in his hands and he would take it and crush it.

His hour was to come sooner than he thought. Only a few weeks later, the camp was thrown into turmoil when Feanor's last sons came to steal the _silmarilli_ Earendil had broken from Melkor's crown. Eonwe allowed them to live and let them go. But with that he eased in his vigilance.

Mairon seized the opportunity, discarded his body like old clothes and disappeared as a spirit into the East. Melkor's gloating over the last harvest of his seed filled him. He wasted no thought on how his further betrayal must have shattered Eonwe. Had he done so, he might have turned back.

**Author's Note:**

> fana - form; cloak in which the naturally bodiless Ainur clothed themselves when they walked among the Children of Ilúvatar; Qu.


End file.
